


Four times Crowley fails to cope with Aziraphale using a pet name (and One time he starts to get used to it)

by TheLadyZephyr



Series: Ineffable Endearments [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cameos by Anathema and the Them, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, So much fluffy kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 18:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19729021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyZephyr/pseuds/TheLadyZephyr
Summary: "Endearment" (noun) - A phrase expressing affection. A word that you use to show that you love someone.Six thousand years’ worth of countless iterations of ‘you go too fast for me’ have left Crowley utterly unprepared in the face of Aziraphale’s unguarded affection.





	Four times Crowley fails to cope with Aziraphale using a pet name (and One time he starts to get used to it)

**Author's Note:**

> Though this story works pretty well as a standalone piece, I highly recommend reading the first instalment in the series before this one. 
> 
> Enjoy!

** SOHO - OLD COMPTON ST **

“Oh Crowley, look!” said Aziraphale, pointing excitedly across the street. “The new Japanese restaurant is open!”

Crowley bit back a smile. The angel was bursting with palpable excitement, turning back to him with wide imploring eyes. It was the expression that never failed to make Crowley fold like a house of cards and indulge Aziraphale, and the bastard knew it. 

“Go on then,” he said, rolling his eyes behind his glasses, “let’s see if they’ve got a table available.” 

They would (he made sure of it).

Aziraphale’s face lit up, and he took Crowley’s hand to pull him across the street. It took Crowley a moment to gather his thoughts and return the angel’s grip. He still wasn’t used to the little moments of casual intimacy that Aziraphale seemed all too happy to engage in. Six thousand years’ worth of countless iterations of ‘you go too fast for me’ had left him utterly unprepared in the face of Aziraphale’s unguarded affection. 

They made their way through the evening Soho foot traffic, and up the steps into the little restaurant. 

“It smells delightful!” Aziraphale said, adjusting his grip on Crowley’s hand and tangling their fingers together. 

“Mmhmm,” Crowley replied. He didn’t trust himself to say more, the little sparkle of giddy pleasure was doing embarrassing things to his throat. 

He wilfully throttled his pounding heart back down to a more reasonable pace as they waited for a couple at the counter to settle their bill. It didn’t help that Aziraphale was idly running his thumb over the back of Crowley’s hands as he looked around. 

“They have plants!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pointing to the collection of artfully lit flora displayed on a hanging shelf. “Aren’t they pretty?” 

Crowley focused on the distraction gratefully. “They’re alright. Bit spoiled.”

The couple finished at the counter, and Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand to approach the young man behind the bar.

“Hello…” he said warmly. 

Crowley stepped back to give the exiting couple space to walk past. 

“… my partner and I were wondering if you had a table for two available for dinner?”

Crowley stumbled, clocking his hip against the back of a chair. The occupant, Aziraphale and the staff member all turned to look at him.

“Ah. Sorry.” He was intensely grateful for the glasses hiding his face. _Partner._

Aziraphale shot him a concerned look, then turned back to the cashier. 

“Actually, we just had a cancellation,” the man said. “You’re very lucky, we’ve been booked out for weeks.”

“Luck of the devil,” Aziraphale agreed, a little smirk playing at the edge of his mouth as he met Crowley’s eyes. 

Crowley cleared his throat as he stepped up beside the angel, making an attempt at his usual slouch with a forearm on the bar. From the way Aziraphale’s smirk deepened, he had a feeling the angel saw right through him. 

_ Partner. _

** SOHO – A. Z. FELL AND CO. **

Crowley was having trouble holding back his laughter. He was lounging in an armchair in the corner of the bookshop, crossed legs dangling over one armrest and head resting on the other. Ostensibly he was reading a book, but actually he was gleefully watching Aziraphale chivvy persistent customers out of his shop. 

“I can’t believe you actually have a copy for sale!” the young woman said, bouncing on her toes. 

“Err… yes,” Aziraphale replied, looking pained. 

“Wherever did you get it?”

“Well—”

“I don’t even mind how expensive it is, you just can’t _find_ books like this anymore, you know?”

“Uh, rather.”

“Do you take credit?”

Aziraphale threw Crowley a desperate glance over the girl’s shoulder. The demon grinned, shifting the book in front of his face down so the angel could see him. Irritation flickered over Aziraphale’s expression before he schooled it into something more polite.

“I’m sorry?” he asked. Crowley could see his jaw clenching.

The woman frowned. “I said, do you take credit?”

Aziraphale’s stared at her. He looked miserable. 

Crowley sighed, and concentrated on the smartphone in the girl’s hand. It shot out a flurry of sparks and a plume of smoke, and she dropped it with a yelp.

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale said, deftly slipping the book out of her limp grasp. “Are you alright?”

She was staring down at the phone in shock. “…what…”

“Not to worry, my dear,” Aziraphale said soothingly. He picked up the phone and slid it into her bag, and started showing her to the door. “These things happen sometimes, I’m sure your telephone will be just fine.” 

“But…”

“Maybe get it checked with, err, with the phone person, and it’ll be right as rain.” He shuffled her out onto the street, and started to close the door. “It was lovely meeting you!”

“Wait—”

“Cheerio!” Aziraphale shut the door, and flipped the sign over to ‘closed’. 

Crowley let his silent laughter turn into an audible chuckle, and took a moment to fix the woman’s phone back to its original state before she walked away.

The angel hugged the book to his chest for a moment, then turned to beam at him. “Oh Crowley, that was _flawless.”_

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t think I’m not perfectly aware you do that sort of thing for yourself all the time.”

Aziraphale looked down at the floor, grinning. “Oh, I know.” He crossed the room to stand beside Crowley’s armchair, so that the demon had to tip his head back to see him.

He reached out, sliding hand through Crowley’s hair and along his jawline.

“I just like it when you do it, darling.”

_ Oh. _ It was lucky that Crowley technically didn’t need to breathe, because he’d forgotten how to. Aziraphale’s fingertips skimmed over his throat, leaving sparkling flutters of sensation in their wake, then back up to gently tug his glasses off. Crowley shivered. He tipped his head back further, eyelids dropping half closed. 

Aziraphale bent forward to brush their lips together, upside-down but incredibly soft. Crowley froze for a handful of scattered heartbeats, then pushed up to return the kiss, failing to suppress the broken noise that tore its way out of him. 

Aziraphale hummed against his mouth. He brought his hands up to cradle Crowley’s face, easing him back down and slowing the kiss until Crowley relaxed. He pulled back. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. He hovered over the demon, breath fanning over his tingling lips.

Then he swiftly leant down to nip at the corner of Crowley’s mouth with his teeth, and pulled away. 

“Ngk.”

Crowley’s heart, which had only just settled, roared back into overdrive. He stared up at the ceiling, heat burning in his cheeks. None of his limbs felt like they were connected where they were supposed to be.

“Dinner at the Ritz again tonight?” Aziraphale asked innocently. 

“Ngk,” Crowley said again. 

The angel’s answering chuckle echoed in his ears. 

****

** TADFIELD – JASMINE COTTAGE **

“—and then you slide the first card underneath, just like… oh.” Aziraphale dropped the deck of cards and they fluttered to the ground.

“Brilliant!” said Adam, without any detectable sarcasm. The dog barked.

“Actually, I don’t think he was supposed to drop them,” said the kid with glasses. 

“Err,” said Aziraphale. 

“ _I_ thought you could do real magic?” the girl demanded. 

“He might be,” the dark-haired boy insisted. “How could you tell, anyway?”

Aziraphale looked over the children’s heads to where Crowley was sprawled on a foldup chair, eyes wide and beseeching. Crowley raised his wineglass in a toast, and stayed firmly where he was.

The sun had nearly disappeared behind the western horizon, and the front garden of Jasmine Cottage was painted in golden hues. 

“You look happy,” Anathema told him, dragging a chair across the grass and taking a seat beside him at the rickety table. 

Crowley blinked at her, unsure if he should feel offended. “Happy?”

“You know,” she tipped her head to where Aziraphale was wringing his hands at the arguing children, “together.” 

Crowley stopped mid-sip, eyes flicking up to meet hers through his glasses. “Ah.”

“It’s lovely,” Anathema continued. “I rarely ever see two auras so intermingled.” 

Crowley lowered his wineglass. “That’s… we’re not…” He trailed off. They _were_ , actually, but denying it was such a habit even in his own mind, let alone out loud. He coughed. “Well, we’re—”

“Sweetheart,” Aziraphale interrupted him. Crowley sloshed a bit of his wine onto his lap. “Can you watch the children for a tick? I’m going inside to help young Newton with dinner.”

“Uh,” said Crowley, looking at the four bright faces peering up at him expectantly.

To his side, Anathema took a sip of her own drink, expression very smug. Aziraphale had already disappeared into the cottage.

“Are you married, then?” asked Adam.

Crowley dropped his glass.

“He’s not married!” said the girl. “He’s not wearing a ring!”

Crowley shot Anathema a desperate glance. She was grinning at him.

“Actually, people can be married and not wear rings,” countered the bespectacled kid.

“Is it allowed, calling people sweetheart if you’re not married?” Adam asked. They all turned to look at Crowley.

“Uh,” he said again, seriously considering the consequences of miricaling himself back to London. Probably not worth the lecture he’d get from Aziraphale. Instead, he put a hand behind his back and snapped his fingers.

A snow-white rabbit raced through the garden, and the children cried out in delight as the dog leapt up to give chase. By the time everything settled down (and the rabbit had long since returned safely to its burrow) dinner was ready and any more awkward questions had been successfully driven from the children’s minds.

It was pleasant, all of them sitting down on the mismatched chairs at the rickety table, with Aziraphale chattering amiably at his side. It’d been a while since he’d let himself get to know a group of humans, and he could admit to himself that he’d missed the easy company of it. Crowley caught Anathema shooting him a knowing look every time the angel helped himself to something on Crowley’s plate or rested a hand on the demon’s arm, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

He gathered his courage, and shifted his leg so that it was pressed against Aziraphale’s, under the table. The angel didn’t pause in his conversation, but he did give Crowley a brief, shining grin, and hooked his ankle over the demon’s so their legs were twined together. Crowley ducked his head to hide a smile. He could get used to this. 

** RICHMOND – KEW GARDENS **

Crowley lay on his back, head pillowed on his hands, and watched the storm-grey clouds whirling above them. Thunder crashed overhead, significantly closer than it had been even a few minutes ago.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley glanced up at the angel out of the corned of his eye. Aziraphale was sitting primly on the edge of their picnic blanket, squinting up at the flashing horizon.

“I told you so,” Crowley said, voice lilting. 

Aziraphale glared down at him.

“Let’s go for a picnic, Crowley,” Crowley continued, pitching his voice higher than normal, “it’ll be lovely, Crowley. Don’t worry about the forecast, Crowley.”

“That sounds _nothing_ like me.”

The thunder boomed again.

Crowley pushed himself up onto his elbows. The park around them was deserted; the humans had all sensibly vacated the area long since. Flurries of wind grabbed handfuls of fallen leaves and whipped them into the air. He suspected that Aziraphale was exerting some heavenly influence on their blanket, to prevent it from taking flight in similar fashion.

“Come on, angel,” he sighed, sitting up, “if we don’t ‘get a wiggle on’ we’ll—”

A ringing crack of thunder cut him off, and the rain started to fall.

“…get wet,” he finished. 

Aziraphale grinned at him sheepishly, droplets collecting in his hair. Crowley scowled at the sky, daring the rain to try falling on _him_. It didn’t. 

“Oh come on,” Aziraphale said, smiling, “you don’t think it’s just a little bit romantic?” He got to his feet, and offered a hand.

“Romantic?” Crowley scoffed. “What, being damp?” He took the angel’s hand, and Aziraphale hauled him up. 

“Well,” Aziraphale replied, “how would you know?” He eyed Crowley’s (miraculously) dry jacket meaningfully. 

“Wha—” he looked down at himself, then back up. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, and bit at his lower lip, eyes wide. “Oh— no, absolutely not!”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked. He stepped closer, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Crowley’s scarf. “I think you’d look rather fetching with your hair wet.”

“I—mmm.” He shut his mouth with a click, and took a second to gather his thoughts. “Not happening, angel.” 

Aziraphale pouted for a second, then his eyes narrowed in speculation. 

Crowley’s stomach jolted, suddenly apprehensive. “What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” He slipped the hand that wasn’t holding Crowley’s scarf under his lapel. “I thought it might be fun, but if you don’t want to, I suppose that’s alright… honey.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped open. “You—” he tried, heat blooming in his cheeks. “You… did that on purpose.”

Aziraphale ducked his head, grinning. 

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m mad or proud of you right now.” 

“Sorry,” said Aziraphale, looking far too pleased with himself. “Darling.”

The heat in Crowley’s cheeks redoubled. “Angel…”

Aziraphale slid his hand up to run his fingers through the hair at the back of Crowley’s neck. “Pet. Cariño. Liebling. Mahal.  宝 贝 .  حبيبي.  여보 …”

His voice got softer and softer. Crowley swayed forwards.

“…love.”

Crowley kissed him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to do so, but he could definitely taste the rain on Aziraphale’s lips, and that was definitely his hand sliding through the angel’s sodden curls. Aziraphale hummed against him, winding both arms behind Crowley’s neck. Crowley melted, pressing closer with a hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back. It was _lovely,_ sweet, and warm and…

Wet.

He pulled back. A glance to the side revealed the material of his sleeve gleefully soaking up water. He could feel his hair sticking to his forehead, droplets running down under his glasses. 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. The angel grinned up at him. “Sorry.”

Crowley sighed, and let the rain keep falling. “No you’re not.”

Aziraphale tightened his arms around Crowley’s neck. “Well, perhaps not.” He moved his hand upwards, fingers cool as they carded through Crowley’s saturated hair. “I was right though.”

“Mmm?”

“You do look rather fetching.”

****

** LONDON - ST JAMES'S PARK **

It was past nightfall, the ducks long since gone, but St James’ was still lovely. The sky was clear and the moon was bright, and the sounds of the city’s awakening nightlife filtered through the trees. Aziraphale was a steady presence at Crowley’s side, keeping step with him in companionable silence. 

Crowley wanted… _something._ He was having trouble putting it into words. He watched the angel as they walked, studying the moonlight glinting off his hair and trying to quantify the longing tugging at his gut. Aziraphale noticed him looking.

“What?” he asked, tipping his head. Crowley stopped, swinging to face him, and Aziraphale frowned. “Are you alright, my dear?”

Crowley opened his mouth. Shut it again. Balled his fingers into fists. “I need—” He scowled, frustrated at the lack of words. 

“Shhh, here.” Aziraphale took his hands and tugged him to a bench on the side of the path. 

Crowley sat, trying to shake off the restlessness in his limbs. There was a gentle breeze rustling through the trees around them, pleasantly cool on his itching skin.

Aziraphale sat next to him, concern etched on his face. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“It’s…” Crowley clutched at the words just out of his reach. “It’s—” he lurched to his feet, whirling back around “—you’re so good at that!”

Aziraphale blinked. “I’m good at… what?”

Crowley turned away, pacing in front of the bench. “At, at _words.”_ He threw his hands up in frustration.

The angel’s brow furrowed. “At… words?”

“Yes!”

“I’m afraid I’m not following.”

Crowley stopped pacing, standing in front of Aziraphale. “You! Words!” He gestured at the angel. “Partner, and darling, and sweetheart, and lo—” he choked, spinning to face the moonlit trees.

“Crowley…”

Aziraphale’s voice was feather-soft, barely audible over the whispering leaves. The angel took his hand. He gently turned him around again, and reached up to tap a finger on Crowley’s glasses in question. The demon nodded stiffly, ducking his head to help the angel slide them off. 

“Crowley,” he repeated, “you don’t—that is, I hope you know that I, well, there are lots of ways to say certain things.” He twisted Crowley’s glasses around in his hands. “What I mean is—you don’t have to _say_ , err, anything. I already know.”

Crowley scowled, and shook his head. “Look, I just want to tell you… argh, I want to say… _argh.”_ He rocked backwards, snarling at the sky. 

“Crowley—”

“No! No.” He clenched his hands into fists.

“But—”

“It shouldn’t be so _bloody_ difficult!” His voice was getting louder. 

“You—”

“I called you sweetheart for four hundred blasted years!” He was yelling now.

Aziraphale stopped trying to talk, eyes wide.

“It shouldn’t be so bloody hard to tell you I’m in love with you!”

Aziraphale stared. Crowley stared back. His words rang in the air, puncturing the muffled quiet of the night. 

“Oh.” He’d said it.

Aziraphale’s shocked expression flickered, a tiny smile growing on his lips. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I love you,” Crowley repeated, awed. There, he said it again.

Aziraphale broke into the most gorgeous grin Crowley had even seen in six millennia. 

“I love you.” Crowley could feel his own lips stretching into a smile now. “I love you, sweetheart. Darling. Gorgeous. Dove.”

Aziraphale laughed. He reached forward to wind his arms around Crowley’s waist. “Careful my dear, if you keep on like that, I’m going to start thinking all sorts of embarrassing things about how nice you are.”

“Think ‘em,” Crowley replied recklessly. He leant down to whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. “Baby.” 

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, looking very pleased. 

“Handsome.”

“Flatterer.”

“Cupcake.”

“Good Lord.”

“Not that one, then?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’ll get used to it.”

Crowley tucked his fingers into the pockets of Aziraphale’s trousers, tugging him closer.

“How about ‘my love?’”

“Now _that_ , I could definitely get used to.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading folks! As always, you can find me over on tumblr as **[theladyzephyr](https://theladyzephyr.tumblr.com/)**
> 
> If you liked this, you may also like my other Good Omens fic - [An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324027). It's my favourite thing that I've written in this fandom, the story of the little moments over six thousand years that made Aziraphale fall in love. 
> 
> Apologies to any Londonites if I butchered the locations too severely! I'm an Aussie who's visited twice, and writing this involved reckless use of wikipedia.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Zee


End file.
